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Topic: The Hard Way (Read 60508 times)

Kate shook her head in resignation and looked meaningfully at her watch. "If you really want to stick around to get caught playing auto mechanic by the red neck posse and whatever paid off law dogs they have in tow feel free, but it's likely to result in a gunfight that will trash your truck and give you a few more bullet wounds to bleed from."

She paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "There's a saying where I come from, no material possession is worth your life. As for your saying, I'd have to disagree, no piece of crap truck is more valuable then the person they married, and anyone who feels otherwise is a heartless bastard that should be run over with said truck."

"You know where I come from," Cutter said, a little irritation leaking into his voice, "We have pretty much the same expression, my stuff isn't worth your life. And by that we mean if you mess with our stuff we don't have much compunction about killing you over it." He took a breath, now regretting how assholish he sounded.

"And its a southern thing, a country song kind of thing, and something that you shouldn't take to seriously. But then again I'm willing to bet there isn't any Haggard in your CD collection. No offense intended," he said.

Kate smiled and nodded in agreement, recalling the lack of anything slow paced or soft in her current music selection. "Most of it is classic rock from the 80's and early 90's, my fathers collection, it came with the car." She placed a hand on Cutters uninjured shoulder and squeezed gently in understanding, the truck was probably one of the most important things he owned, if it was her Cuda she'd prolly feel the same way.

"Let's use the fix-a flat on the front tire so the trucks more mobile, then you drive it to grampa night visions' place and we do a full repair there, that way we're not here for part two of Red-neck revenge and your truck isn't left abandoned."

"Torching the place sounds good. We'll duct tape this bundle up here, and leave legs a message. She picks him up, or doesn't. Don't really care." Frank shrugs a little, as he frowns. "Rednecks are probably already on the way. Best thing to do is shift slightly, and hit them on the way in. Don't have enough time or materiel to @!#$ around with IEDs, I'm thinking. Did they slash my Boss's tires, too?"

"My Dad, rest his soul," Cutter said, "Served in Vietnam, ran napalm twice a day from the port to Ben-Wah air base, then ended up manning a 105 in the Tet offensive, had a few things to say about something like this. First, you sit still too long you end up dead. I think he would have a valid point, this is cornhusker territory and we're not native. They are going to have the advantage on the terrain and in numbers. They will have more firepower too. I'm willing to bet that in the long run, the three of us have better training than all of them put together." He imagined his father sitting in that hideous green and white barqualounger puffing a Lucky Strike and drinking lukewarm PBR. 'Beer is beer, and you don't give a d**n if it is warm or cold when you are sitting in the middle of hell, you're just thankful to have it.'

The Old man had understood Cutter, he knew what shellshock was, what PTSD was before it had a long fancy name. It was what happened to the guys who were teachers, or CPAs, or some other bulls**t blue collar job who ended up sitting with a necklace of VC ears or celebrated arriving in country by strangling some skinny Vietnamese whore with a bootlace.

"I'd forget about torching the place, forensics will still find some d**n thing. If it comes down to it, frakking blame me for it. I won't pass another psych evaluation after this," he said. "Lets just go and get this done with, Jesus will let me rest when I kill enough insurgents."

Kate nodded at his point, forensics would likely turn up something, also if the owner decided to talk burning the place wouldn't make much difference. "The only other upside to the fire is it might keep the local boys busy trying to save their watering hole, either way, lets clear out of here before we do wind up in another fire fight. It really doesn't matter how good our tactics, weapons, and skill are; if enough of them show up we'll run out of ammo before we run out of targets and that'd be a poor way to end the morning."

"Torch the place, or leave it, doesn't matter," Cutter said. The urge was more than he could stand and he started searching behind the bar for a pack of smokes. There was no way that there wasn't one. Lost and found maybe? No, just some cheap fake Oakleys, a busted cellphone, some horrid keychains, some outta gas lighters, the kind of debris that you would expect in a hick joint like this. He kept looking, peanuts check, pretzels check, there was even a repellent jar of pickled eggs. Guess that was for special occasions. He opened some of the drawers, his movements slowing becoming frantic, search and destroy baby. He opened a drawer near the cash register and heaved a sigh of relief. It was a sad bar that didnt sell smokes. His hand hovered over the pack of Cheap-O 100s, but then he picked up the familiar red and white pack. $6 according to the label. Frak em, he pulled one, tapped it twice against his arm and opened it.

Back in Iraq he had smoked, and when he came back, that was one of the things that the shrinks said had to go. But he had long since noticed that smoking was under attack, and smokers with it. to hell with all of them. He lit up and took the first drag he had had in 7, or was it 8 years.

"I don't want to die in a bar, my truck isn't going anywhere. So, I grab my spare magazines and phone charger and then we can get out of here," he said. Cutter headed out the door to his truck.

Kate blinked in surprise, a moment ago the man was willing to trade bullets to keep his vehicle safe, now he was ready to leave it where it lay? Glad he finally made a decision, she only nodded in agreement hurrying out of the bar behind Cutter. "I'll pull my Cuda around front, see you guys there."

Pausing at the tables, Kate waited for Frank to walk past her before lighting a book of matches and tossing it with a flick of her wrist into the alcohol pooled across the bar. Forensics might find something eventually, but she'd be d**ned if she'd make it easy for them.

Cutter dug in the back of his truck, grabbing his plastic bag of pain meds and other medicine cabinet fair. nothing ruined his day quite like rubbing a blister on the stump of his arm. He grabbed the overnight camping backpack, and his gun cleaning kit. The two spare magazines rattled inside the canvas sack. It was a heavy bundle, but not quite a GI Pack for weight. He shut the back of the camper shell and sighed, puffing his second cigarette. The flames were already licking up through the windows of the bar. d**ned shame all that booze going up in flame, the packs of smokes, and the money in the till. He was a lot of things, but one thing he wasnt was a thief.

The Ford would wait, there was no way that those rednecks would let a turbocharged V8 truck just sit and rust. He could come back for her, or if he went back 'upstate' as they called the looney bin, well not much need for a truck between finger painting and sitting by the window.

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.

Make sure the old man's out of the building, at the least. Don't want to set him on fire too. Drag the Mafiosa to the corner of the lot. Frank'd done enough murder in his life. Scavenge what's left in the Boss.

As he twisted the key in the Boss's trunk, the 'Cuda coming up, Frank swore silently to himself, even as he thumbed the hidden switch underneath the bumper. It didn't do much, just kept the alarm from going off. Pull the case, the duffel. Spin the little daisy wheels on the case till it's unlocked. It'd been dumb to leave it in the Boss, but he'd not wanted the attention. Made the CF more likely. Well, it'd already started to happen. Duffel over the left shoulder. Two changes of clothes, six pairs of underwear, and five boxes of ammo each for the pistols, and six for the Remington SP-10. Forty rounds of shot, 10 of slug.

As the car pulled up, Frank half smirked, as he pulled the longarm from the case, racking the mechanism as he filled its magazine. "I call shotgun."

Reaching over to unlock the passenger side door and shove it open, Kate grinned at Franks unexpected show of humor, motioning for Cutter to get in the back. "Excuse the clutter, I've been living out of this car for the past couple weeks or so, there's probably some ice still in the cooler back there if you need it for your arm."

As soon as everyone was situated and her seat belt secure, Kate shoved in the clutch and slammed the car into gear, tearing out of the driveway in a spray of gravel. "Next stop we speak to that farmer with the night vision goggles to get some answers, unless either of you guys have another destination in mind?"

Cutter shrugged, "back seat is as good as any, might find something fun to play with," he pushed some car debris out of the way, rumpled jacket a few discarded wrappers and the paper and styrofoam fair from the roadside eat'n's**t fast food joints. He picked some ice out of the cooler to put on his shoulder. He checked his bullpup rifle, engaged the safety and leaned back in the cramped back seat of the car.

Frank grunted as he settled into the passenger seat, stowing his gear. The 1902, he decided, could stay in the case. It was a fine weapon, but not exactly appropriate to the current situation. "Way I see it, we have two choices. We can check out this guy with the goggles, or we can hide our asses and trail the 'huskers when they show up. That's risky though, and we don't know the yield. I think we're best off finding this geek with the glasses. I'll check for a bounty, maybe we can even nab him legally and turn a little profit. I want to check up on legs while we're at it. It was all too d**n slick before the fecal impeller strike. "

As the smell of the burning building began to permeate the air, Frank shook his head slightly. He'd had enough fire down south. At least it didn't reek of napalm.

Kate blushed at Cutters comment, realizing the innocence of it moments later and began mentally kicking herself for jumping to the wrong conclusion. "There's an old Gameboy back there somewhere near the box of crackers, if you're a fan of Mario Land, Tetris and Hunt For Red October you'll be entertained for the entire ride I'm sure."

Reaching over she adjusted her dashboard GPS, trying to recall the farmer address from the conversation earlier, and mostly succeeding. "Next stop the farmers then, chances are he'll have info for us that;s more relevant then the red neck posse's." Glancing over she hit the play button on the cars stereo, Poison's classic tune Every Rose Has It's Thorn, filling the song with its slow mournful melody.

Old man no where to be found. Fat man ok. Well, ok considering he just lost a brother, and was still @!#$ed.

But Frank made sure. No unnecessary deaths on his watch.

-----------------------

The 'Cuda burned rubber. Bret Michaels crooned. As they drove away from the motel they could see the building engulfed in flames, black smoke gushing from all windows. Kate looked in her rear view. Cutter looked back. Frank just sat there, staring straight ahead. Thinking...

------------------------

They barely drove 4 miles. Cop cars ahead. Two of them. Lights flashing. Sirens off. One trooper car to each side of the road. The two cops outside their vehicles, signaling Kate to stop.

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.

Kate slowed as soon as she saw the patrol cars, turning down the stereo and trying her best to look tired and not in the mood for delays, which given the past few weeks wasn't hard. "Even if these guys are on the Huskers payroll none of those red necks saw my car on the scene so they won't be looking for it. If we play this cool and calm and they'll probably just wave us on by, a high speed pursuit would get messy, and make my 'Cuda a wanted symbol across the entire county."

A firefight was also an option, with the element of surprise and the amount of firepower her passengers were packing the pork patrol would be cold cuts before they knew it. The downside was it would draw more attention to themselves and turn up the heat on the area another notch, something she desperately wanted to avoid. Hopefully words would be sufficient, she didn't really want the deaths of two innocent civil servants on her conscience this morning if at all possible.

Rolling down her window she pulled to a stop next to the closest officer, gesturing with a thumb back up the road. "Did you and your partner know there's a building back that way a short distance that looks to be on fire?" Distract them with a more immediate concern and with a little luck they'd forget all about her.

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.

"The hood of my 'Cuda nicked his shoulder this morning when he was topping off my washer fluid," Kate offered quickly giving Cutter a concerned glance before looking back at the trooper. "We plan to have it looked at once we get into town, I keep telling him he's gonna need a tetanus shot but he won't hear of it,"

"Yeah I think it's a motel, or a gas station or something, was smoking pretty bad when we drove past, I was planning on calling 911 once we got a pay phone, I sure hope nobody's still inside that place." Kate made sure to lace her voice with the proper amount of sympathy and concern, leaning out of her window to look back at the horizon, expecting to see a tell tale sign of smoke in the distance.

It took little to slide the longarm back into its case as they rolled to a stop, quiet, easy, and hopefully unnoticed.

"If it was the motel, then probably some idiot smoking in his sleep." Frank shrugged, as he sighed. "We've got our buddy patched up here pretty well, enough to get him to the county hospital, anyway, Sarge. We'll take care of him, don't worry " Even if he's not quite there yet, the flattery never hurts, and sounding in control and helpful won you points with the cops, Frank knew.

Cutter paid little attention to the cop or the conversation being held. He had something special, tetris. Few people know that the game was originally developed to keep crazy people calm and occupied, and the original version had five segment blocks rather than the four segment blocks seen in the original game. His shoulder hurt, but pain was a constant companion, one he shared booze and pain pills with. The rest was distraction. The trick to the game was that he only had one really functional hand to he had to prop the handheld up with his artificial hand while working the rotation of each piece, and its location with just one hand. Most people had the luxury of holding the gameboy with both hands and using some fingers from each hand to play. He could play the game until the batteries gave out, or he passed out from exhaustion, or blood loss

Trooper #2 suddenly stopped to listen to some garbled update coming from his two-way.

Someting about a "convoy" on Route 27...

Trooper #1: "Ok, Ma'am, on your way, but you may want to get off the road soon. Twisters coming...more than one--" He paused to make sure they understood, then one last dubious look at Frank and Cutter.

After an eternity of silence (another 5 seconds or so), the troopers stepped back and waved the 'Cuda on, as they turned and got in their patrol cars.

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.

The semi was making good time. The driver began to relax a little for the first time since crossing the Canadian border. He was late but not too late. Almost there now. The only thing still nagging him was the strange sensation of being watched, which he couldnt shake. He even turned around a few times, to check the back, not trusting the rear-view mirror. Plus the weird whispering. Or was he imagining things? His PTSD was under control, but the last few days, things seemed--diffferent somehow.

The driver took out some pills, and popped them into his mouth. It wouldn't be long now. Just get a grip, Billy,he told himself. Soon, he'd have 50 grand for a job well done.

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.

Heart beating, pounding, ready to rip its way out. Head foggy, sleep-deprived. Adrenaline ran out about a hundred miles back. Just tired now. So tired.

The world spins. Smoke pouring from the hood. Was it bad? Fixable? What do I know about engines? Looks at his hands, his soft, never-did-a-day-of-hard-work-in-his-life hands. What do these hands know about engines?

Stumbling, nice shoes sticking in the mud. Surrounded by corn. Corn. Not vineyards. Not ocean breezes. But @!#$ing corn.

"What the @!#$ am I doing here? What am I doing?" He stumbles again.

Wind blows against his wine-purple, silk shirt. Purple. Like the sky. Like Gary's face under the garrote. Oh no, not Gary. He thought the tears were done, that they'd all dried away. But he was wrong.

He finds himself a quarter mile away from the wreck, looking at an empty highway. When did I walk so far?

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.